


Falling from sight

by SoonerOrLater



Category: Sherlock BBC, Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - fandom
Genre: Brothers, Family, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Post Reichenbach, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-04
Updated: 2013-04-04
Packaged: 2017-12-07 10:54:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/747710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoonerOrLater/pseuds/SoonerOrLater
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following the immediate aftermarth of Sherlock's 'death' the story explores the role Mycroft plays in the plan, and in Sherlock's life and follows Sherlock dealing with being 'dead' and leaving his life behind.</p><p>Belongs in the same universe as my other stories 'Brothers' and 'An Impossible Thing' which deal with Sherlock's homecoming but can be read alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Falling from sight

A dark car pulled up at the back of St Bart’s with Mycroft Holmes emerging from it moments later. In the shadows a little way down the alleyway he spotted movement. Sherlock emerged throwing a cigarette to the ground and stamping it out. The clothes he was wearing, clearly not his own, hung about him. The jeans were hanging off his hips and too long scrunched around his ankles where battered trainers adorned his feet. His top half was covered by a fitted t shirt and a garish green hoodie, which he’d pulled over his hair which seemed damp and stuck to his face where visible.

“You look appalling” Mycroft declared leaning on his umbrella.

“Well I did just die.” Sherlock retorted with a sneer.

“Quite.” Mycroft replied, unable to fully hide the reflexive wince that created.

Sherlock sneered at him again “Come brother, sentiment? Really?”

“I did watch you know.”

“From behind your cameras?”

“From across the street well hidden, naturally.”

“So you saw….” Sherlock took another step towards him.

“ I saw everything Sherlock” Mycroft replied.

“Did…Did I mean how…is he-I mean…” Sherlock stumbled over his words but Mycroft knew what he was asking.

“Not now Sherlock.” He commanded

Sherlock opened his mouth to protest silenced by a clanging door behind him. He started and hid his face under the hood further.

“It’s me. Just me” Molly Hooper nervously insisted. She was hurrying into the alleyway glancing around her a bundle of dark material in her arms. “Oh hello, you’re here.” She said to Mycroft.

“Yes Miss Hooper.” Mycroft said evenly.

 “I thought you’d want this back.”  She said offering the bundle towards Sherlock.  “I got the blood out of it, but you’ll probably want to get it cleaned.”

Sherlock took the bundle which unfurled slightly to reveal itself as his coat. He quickly bundled it back up and held it close against him.

“Thank you.” He said his gaze boring into Molly.

She held it for a moment and nodded. “Lestrade rang me. Checking I’d heard.” She stole a glance at Mycroft , “I told him what we’d agreed.”

Sherlock nodded. “Good.”

“He was with, well he was going to go back to I mean he said that….”

“Is he alright?” Sherlock interrupted her.

Molly hesitated, “He had a concussion and a bit of a cut but they let him home. Lestrade was staying there because Mrs Hudson she …” Molly made a slightly strangled sound “Sherlock are you sure we can’t tell them?  What harm would it do now?”

“No!” Sherlock snapped. Mycroft reached out faster than Sherlock could notice and put a warning hand on his arm, under the warmth of the coat. Sherlock stilled.

“You’ve done well Miss Hooper.” Mycroft said stepping in. “Let us not let emotion get in the way now.” She swallowed and nodded. “Perhaps it’s best if you keep your distance from the detective Inspector and” Mycroft glanced sideways at his brother “Others. For a while at least, perhaps a holiday? I could arrange…”

“Yes Mr Holmes.” Molly replied “I mean no. I’m going to stay with my Mother for a bit. Wales. It’s wet and grey but she’ll cook for me and well….”

“Very good.” Mycroft said, nodding his satisfaction.

“I’d better go.” She said “They might wonder where I am. Said I needed a cup of tea, for the shock. They’ll worry I’ve jumped off the roof too.” A manic giggle escaped and she clapped her hands over her mouth “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I should just…” she made to go, Mycroft caught her arm.

“You did well Molly.” He said “Thank you.”

Molly nodded and turned away slightly, then stopped. She looked Mycroft square in the eye “You look after him.” She said sternly.

There was nothing for Mycroft to do but nod.

Molly turned to go back inside, as she reached the door Sherlock’s voice pulled her back. “Molly.”  he said as she turned her head to look at him he pushed the hood back revealing more of his face “Thank you.”

Molly nodded and after only a moment’s hesitation went to him and wrapped her arms around him. “Take care of yourself, you understand?” she muttered into his shoulder. Sherlock didn’t respond. Molly pushed him back and held him at arm’s length. “Do you understand Sherlock Holmes?” she demanded “There are, well people a person actually, that needs you.”

“You’ve been very helpful Molly and I”

“I’m not talking about me.” She snapped, then softened back to her usual self “You have to come back otherwise, well otherwise, you might as well have let Moriarty pull the trigger. It would have been kinder.” Seeming shocked by her words she hurriedly hugged him again and made her way back to the door head down.

“Molly.” Sherlock called again she turned “I will.”

She nodded, “You’d better” she said shutting the door behind her.

“Shall we?” Mycroft asked breaking Sherlock’s revere staring at the closed door, he nodded and followed his brother into the back of the car.

Slumped in the seat Sherlock pulled the hoodie closer around him shivering slightly despite the warm spring day, he caught Mycroft looking at him and pulled the hood further down over his face.

“Where are you taking me?”  He asked.

“Home, of course.” Mycroft replied.

“I don’t have one anymore.” Sherlock spat “I’m dead.”  

Mycroft sighed slightly and reached a hand over to touch his brother’s arm, to offer some reassurance or comfort he wasn’t sure what. He pulled back before the touch connected, resting his hands back in his lap, alternating his gaze between London speeding by and the tuffs of dark hair and pale skin that escaped the garish green of the hoodie.

 

Once back at his house Mycroft steered a still silent Sherlock towards the stairs.

“There are fresh clothes in the Bathroom.”

Sherlock nodded and made his way up the stairs. Mycroft pulled out his phone;

“Surveillance report.” He demanded

“All stable.” Came the reply “All three targets currently at the residence.”

“Thank you.” Mycroft said “Update me personally on any movement for the next forty eight hours.”

“Affirmative, Sir.”

Mycroft hung up and rubbed a hand across his face. Surveillance of John Watson, Mrs Hudson and Lestrade were, if they had calculated correctly, now the least of his worries. They were also the least dangerous component of the next forty eight hours he mused as he heard a door click shut upstairs and the ancient plumbing groan to life.

Upstairs Sherlock let the hot water scald his skin, feeling the heat coursing over the back of his neck as he leaned against the wall. His breathing was shallow and he fought to keep his eyes open even against the stinging torrent of water. Closing them brought the image of the ground rushing towards him, brought the sound of John’s voice back to his ears.

He emerged from the shower and made his way to the room he knew was still marked as ‘his’ in their childhood home. On the bed folded clothes awaited him, perfectly fitting of course. He wondered briefly how long Mycroft had been keeping them, how often he updated the collection in line with Sherlock’s current size. The last time he’d spent any amount of time here he was much slighter, youth and his less healthy habits having taken their toll. These clothes fitted the more substantial form that nearly two years of clean living and regular-or at least semi-regular, meals had given him.

Sherlock wandered downstairs, finding his brother as expected in the study. Mycroft looked up as he entered, removing the glasses he reserved for home and the end of a long day. Sherlock supposed today had already been particularly long, he flopped down in the chair opposite awaiting information. Mycroft folded his hands on the desk and regarded his brother, wary what information would do to him, knowing he had no choice but to share all he knew to keep Sherlock contained where he could keep an eye on him.

‘All are safe and accounted for.’ He began, ‘John is at Baker Street with Mrs Hudson. Inspector Lestrade my reports indicate has recently left the premises and is returning to his own flat. It seems he and John are reconciled in their mutual belief in you which is useful.’

‘Useful?’ Sherlock spat.

‘Yes.’ Mycroft said his tone measured and patient, ‘It would seem most odd if your closest allies were suddenly against you-even factoring in the tabloid consensus.’

Sherlock snorted ‘What difference does it make if they agree or not. I’m dead.’

‘On the contrary, Brother.’ Mycroft said, tone still patient. ‘When popular opinion turns as it did on you then more fickle of friends turn with it. Your friends have-despite a momentary waver on Lestrade’s part, for which he can hardly be blamed due to its professional implications he is rather a good detective after all.’

‘Yes’ Sherlock stated.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow and continued ‘That they have united in support of you puts them both firmly allied to one another which is useful in terms of … protection.’ Mycroft paused to make sure his brother was following, Sherlock nodded ‘In the wider sense, the uniting of your two closest friends’ Sherlock raised an eyebrow at that but didn’t speak ‘in the short term strengthens the idea propagated that you are a delusional psychopath who duped those closest to you. Then when the time comes for you to be proven correct we have a blogging war hero and a DI at Scotland Yard who were right all along.’

‘You planned this.’

Mycroft nodded with a soft smile ‘I work in Government Sherlock, PR is my area. You took care of the more hands on element of this, while my responsibility was the long game.’

Sherlock was quiet for a moment. ‘Good.’ He said eventually ‘That’s good.’

Mycroft nodded ‘You’re welcome.’ He said ‘Now we must talk immediate plans.’

‘What about Lestrade’s job?’ Sherlock said voice suddenly urgent

‘It will be dealt with.’ Mycroft said evenly Sherlock raised an eyebrow at him ‘He’ll have to be seen to take some punishment, some kind of secondment to a suitably dull constabulary for a few months should do it, then a suitably high profile case will bring him back to Scotland Yard. There should be no long term affects.’

‘Should be?’

‘Wont’ be. I’ll see to it.’

Sherlock nodded again. ‘And what about him?’

Mycroft exhaled slowly, he’d been waiting for that question.  ‘My abilities to intervene there are somewhat lesser Sherlock you know that.’

‘Bollocks.’ Sherlock said ‘You can intervene in pretty much anything you like.’

‘Sherlock as always you overestimate my power. John Watson is not an Eastern European country he is a man. I could exert influence over the former it is true but not the latter.’

‘You’re willing to exert influence over Lestrade’

‘Able to.’ Mycroft corrected ‘He’s an employee of the Crown, I am able to shift and influence there.’

‘Then shift your influence to John.’ Sherlock’s tone was dark, desperate now and his hands gripped the arm rests of the chair tightly as he struggled to stay still.

‘I can’t!’ Mycroft exclaimed ‘Lord knows Sherlock, if I could keep him in an office where I could watch him day and night, ensure he had employment and was kept safe an occupied until you get back I would. I’d camp out on his doorstep myself if I could if it bloody well meant you were sure he was safe and wouldn’t take any stupid risks. But there are some things I cannot do for you.’ He took a breath ‘As much as I want to.’

Silence and the weight of Mycroft’s words hung between them. Eventually the elder Holmes cleared his throat. ‘I will of course keep him under full surveillance and security as long as possible; even I do not have infinite resources. However I will personally see to it sufficient observation is done even after the immediate danger has passed.’ He paused again ‘I will also do my best to assist in his...transition to a more civilian life is as smooth as possible.’

Sherlock nodded slowly. ‘Thank you.’ He said eventually. ‘As there is no way to know how long I will be absent it is best he gets on with his life.’

‘Come Sherlock, you don’t mean for him to, what is the phrase ‘move on’ do you?’

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, ‘People do.’

‘Sherlock.’ Mycroft leaned forward over his desk ‘After what you have just done, surely you cannot mean…’

‘I still intend to return Mycroft, but plans can change, and people most certainly do. We must assume things will not return to how they once were from this point.’

‘Well.’ Mycroft said folding his arms ‘Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Many matters to deal with before then.’

‘I have a plan’ Sherlock said.

‘No doubt you do, but you’ll need my help.’

‘Yes.’  

Mycroft nodded ‘You’ll need to lie low for a while, until after the funeral at least.’

Sherlock nodded. ‘Yes.’ He said again ‘The funeral.’

‘I have people arranging it.’

‘Of course.’

‘We will naturally have to speak of arrangements and your plans but I think for now getting beyond that point, with everybody…intact should be our priority. Agreed?’

‘Agreed.’

Silence again fell between them. 

‘What now?’ Sherlock asked leaping to his feet, suddenly restless.

‘Now.’ Mycroft said, pushing his chair back and standing ‘We eat. As I guess you have not eaten since sometime yesterday.’

Sherlock dutifully followed his brother into the kitchen and slumped at the large farmhouse table as Mycroft began moving around with assured ease, pulling ingredients and pans from a myriad of cupboards. He’d always assumed his brother employed staff to do such things since he took over their childhood home. As if reading his mind, as always Mycroft paused and spoke;

‘I have a cook four days a week yes, I’ve given her a couple of weeks off telling her originally I was going to be away, I’ll telephone tomorrow and tell her I’ll be taking time off after your death. She’ll not interfere. My cleaner likewise has time off, she on the other hand has gone home to Poland so won’t be any the wiser.’

‘A Polish cleaner, how terribly middle class.’ Sherlock smirked

‘She was the best for the job.’ Mycroft said coolly ‘I did have an old lady from the village but she talked too much.’

Sherlock snorted, ‘Like Mrs Hudson.’ He said without thinking then caught himself his face falling.

‘Quite.’ Mycroft said going back to his slicing; Sherlock sat and watched in silence, it was comforting he found watching someone cook. He often watched John, much to his consternation insisting that if he had time to sit and watch he had time to help. Sure enough Mycroft was of the same thinking and he soon found himself slicing and preparing pans before laying the table, busy hands quieting his brain for a few moments at least.

Following a quiet dinner Sherlock had excused himself and retreated to his room. Mycroft let him go knowing his brother needed further thinking time before he could be pressed for the kind of details and plan making that would be needed in the next few days.  Mycroft retreated to his study to continue his part in such plans.

Sherlock sat in the chair in the corner of his room. Silence growing oppressive as the house quieted around him. 

At midnight he heard Mycroft climbing the stairs, his footfalls slow and deliberate came closer to the door. A light knock accompanied the opening of the door, his brother silhouetted by the light from the hall.

‘Sherlock.’

‘Still alive Mycroft. Haven’t fallen off the roof here.’

‘Quite.’ Mycroft answered not rising to the sarcasm. ‘It’s late, and from what I gather it’s been over twenty four hours since you had any kind of rest’

‘I died. That’s enough.’ Sherlock bit

‘Sherlock enough!’ Mycroft snapped.

Sherlock simply glared from under his hair.

‘I suggest rest. This is all going to take time.  Patience Brother.’ Mycroft said tone measured again.

Sherlock was willing to ignore him but Mycroft’s stare wouldn’t permit it. Eventually he nodded slowly.

‘What else?’ he asked eventually.

Mycroft knew better than to argue. He crossed the room to stand in front of the bed and laid a small toiletry bag on the bed.

‘Should you feel certain…needs.’ He said simply

Sherlock glowered reaching for the bag, the weight and sound of clinking glass betraying its contents before he opened it. He sifted through syringes and pulled out a small bottle holding it to the light.

‘Enough but not too much, and from an assured source’ Mycroft said by way of explanation. ‘If you must, and I feared you might, I’d rather it was here and with a regulated source.’

‘I’m clean.’ He said sullenly

‘I know you Sherlock.’ Mycroft said ‘And I am simply trying to protect you.’

Sherlock considered the bottle holding it to the light leaning back in the chair. Mycroft watched him for a moment, waiting to see if any more was to be said about the matter. Sherlock simply sat rocking the solution back and fore in the light. Mycroft held out his hand and Sherlock returned the bottle to it, watching his brother return it to the bag and leave it on the bed.

‘If you feel the need, this is how I would rather it was done.’ He said crossing to the door before pausing once more.

‘Goodnight Sherlock.’ He said moving to exit.

‘Mycroft.’ Sherlock replied a slight question in his tone, calling him back. His brother reappeared ‘Nothing.’ He added.

Mycroft nodded and exited.

Long hours passed and Sherlock paced and sat and thought. He scrolled through news story after news story about his ‘suicide’ he read the twitter feeds and comments on every article, memorising all the details the world knew about him. He left his bed, and the package Mycroft left on it, undisturbed.

At 4.08 am Sherlock went into the hall, dimly lit by lamps he’d have found his way blindfolded. He slipped inside his brother’s room, the dark shape on the bed still, breathing regular. Sherlock moved to the other side of the room, feeling his way in the darkness, the large wing backed armchair that had once sat in their father’s study now occupied the corner at the foot of the bed. Sherlock sunk down, as he did something soft landed on his shoulder. A blanket, he wrapped it around his body and leaned back in the chair, eyes fixed on the dark shape in the darkness as they fell closed.

Mycroft blinked in the darkness, sensing the moment his brother slumped forward heavy with sleep rather than seeing this. With a soft sigh he closed his own eyes and rolled over finally to sleep himself. 


End file.
